


Quick, Painless, and Easy

by sixteenpsyche



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, spoiler-free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixteenpsyche/pseuds/sixteenpsyche
Summary: The background noise ceases, and Stephen’s attention snaps back. “Fascinating. I certainly see why Time named you Man of the Year.”Tony senses the sarcasm inherent in that statement, of course, but he isn’t one to pass up an opportunity to humble-brag. He continues, “Well . . .”(Non-superhero PWP)





	Quick, Painless, and Easy

When Tony begins talking about himself, Stephen shifts cognitive gears from ‘active listening’ to ‘accessing memory’. He runs through each task on his to-do list, assigning it as completed, in progress, or be honest, we’re never gonna do that. His passive listening registers that Tony says something about Vice News, and Stephen puts a pin in that (“I, too, was interviewed by Vice last year”). He thinks about the state of his flat; mostly clean, although the bedroom is untidy, because Stephen warned the maid on threat of legal action to never touch the things in his bedroom. That means they should have sex at Tony’s place. Stephen has always wanted to visit Stark Tower, and a penthouse never disappoints. 

The background noise ceases, and Stephen’s attention snaps back. “Fascinating. I can certainly see why Time named you Man of the Year.” 

Tony senses the sarcasm inherent in that statement, of course, but he isn’t one to pass up an opportunity to humble-brag. He continues, “Well . . .”

Stephen thinks about what he’s going to say when he calls Christine. He’ll ask her how her weekend went, and when she inevitably volleys the question, Stephen will disclose that he went on a date. She’ll ask who, and Stephen will respond, flatly, ‘He’s nobody you know’. Christine will react - she always reacts - and the conversation will go one of two ways:

(a) ‘He?’

or

(b) ‘It’s obviously someone I know, or you wouldn’t be playing coy.’

Stephen is fairly sure Christine has little-to-no interest in engaging with him about his sexuality (again), as much as he’d like to do just that. So she’ll press him to reveal the identity of his suitor, and Stephen will eventually dish that he fucked Tony Stark, and Christine will ask, ‘Did he wear those stupid sunglasses during sex?’ and Stephen will exaggerate every negative trait Stark has, then Christine will —

“Doctor? Hello,” Tony’s annoyed voice interrupts his train of thought, and Stephen bristles at his tone. 

“Yes, hi. I’m here. Sorry, I was — I was thinking about a patient. It’s been weighing on me.”

“Oh, no. Lost another one?” Stephen can hear the smirk in Tony’s voice, and it’s the first thing he’s liked about the other man all evening. 

“Yes, except this time it wasn’t on purpose,” Stephen deadpans, and Tony laughs automatically, mirthlessly. This is the worst date he’s been on in a long time, clearly, and Stephen empathizes with that. He knows he is a terrible date. 

But he’s an excellent fuck, which surely balances things out, right?

They engage in tepid conversation for a few more minutes before Stephen decides to put them out of their misery. “Thanks for picking up the tab. Your place?” The doctor’s patience has worn thin, and he wants the night to end swiftly, and in victory. Tony ticks off several boxes (billionaire, genius, celebrity, closet-case, hypocrite) which makes this particular conquest more meaningful than most. Indeed, bragging rights is the only reason Stephen slipped his phone number to Tony after that charity gala last month, the only reason they’re on a date now, at an insipid, overpriced bar. 

Tony matches his enthusiasm for leaving, and five minutes later they’re in a car that isn’t as nice as Stephen’s, but isn’t not-nice, either.

The ride to Stark Tower is quiet; Tony is texting (not while driving - a fully grown man apparently named ‘Happy’ is doing that), and Stephen is planning his meals for the next week. He hopes Tony isn’t into anything too taxing, though, because Stephen hasn’t eaten substantially all day, and he’s three cocktails in, which is enough to make him feel vaguely sleepy. 

He glances over at the other man. “I bottom exclusively,” he informs him, seemingly apropos of nothing. He can almost hear Christine snort in agreement at that, but the thought of attempting to maintain an erection while Tony’s weird, nervous energy washes over him fills Stephen with dread. Luckily, Tony again obliges.

“Oh, I know. I pegged you for a pillow princess at the gala.” 

Stephen sighs and turns away, biting back a response. So totally not worth it. 

—

As soon as they’re in Tony’s bedroom, Stephen makes a beeline for the en suite. He needs to disrobe without scrutiny, take a handful of aspirin, and adjust the settings on his fitness monitor. As he undresses, folding even his socks, he checks all his pockets and discovers he forgot to bring condoms, which is an excellent quality in a doctor. He mentally prepares himself for the distinct possibility that Tony Stark is exactly the kind of asshole who also doesn’t own any condoms. Maybe Happy will procure them, or maybe Stephen will volunteer to bring Tony off orally, or digitally, or both. That’s an agreeable prospect, at least - he is always showered with tremendous praise for his talented mouth and deft fingers.

He exits the bathroom, nude except his cardio watch. (Christine’s watch is tucked away in his jacket, because carrying it is some kind of pathetic compulsion he can’t quite shake.) The lines of his body are long, and well-proportioned, and he is both perfectly taut and gently curved where it matters. He sees Tony sitting on the bed, staring at him, and he smiles a smile that feels like a grin, even though he is fairly certain the Grinch-ish quality of his face is enhanced when he smiles too widely. Unfortunate, but inevitable. 

“You are - you’re kind of beautiful,” Tony mumbles, hands planted on his knees like he’s nervous. Stephen knows Tony means it as a compliment, so he sucks his teeth in faux-bashfulness. 

(‘Gosh, Mr. Stark, do ya really mean that?’) 

Stephen slides onto the bed next to Tony, who is fully clothed. Stephen hopes he’ll stay that way - there are few aspects of sex that please him more than a fully hard cock tenting in trousers. Tony hooks an arm around Stephen’s slim waist and pulls him until they’re flush. The doctor takes the hint and moves to straddle him, knees on either side of Tony’s hips. Then, Tony’s warm hands are on his back, cupping his ass, resting against his thighs, and Tony’s mouth is on his chest, then his shoulders, then working against his neck - everything, everywhere, so suddenly and enthusiastically that it’s startling. 

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Stephen purrs, slipping a hand to cradle the back of Tony’s head, tugging at the roots of his hair. Tony obeys, immediately, falling back onto the bed, throwing a forearm across his face. He groans in frustration. Stephen is flattered. He grinds against the older man’s lap, and positions his hands on his prone chest. Tony reaches out and wraps his free hand around Stephen’s right wrist, squeezing. 

“What do you want to do? Do you have condoms?” 

Tony uncovers his face and fixes his gaze on Stephen, who steels himself in response. “Uh-huh. Get up and I’ll grab ‘em.” Stephen rolls away, resting up on his elbows. He bends his knees, feet flat against the duvet, and spreads his legs. Stephen decides they’ll fuck in missionary, just like God intended. There is a light thump to his left, where Tony throws the lube. Stephen takes it, glances at the label, and proceeds to coat the fingers of his right hand. Tony is watching him, fidgeting absently with the little square packet he’s holding. He is expecting a show, Stephen suspects, so he endeavors to give him one. 

The angle is awkward, but Stephen makes do, working two fingers in soon after the first meets little resistance. The familiar feeling of being breached, paired with the exquisite sensation of being admired, makes him flush and shudder, earlier sleepiness and boredom evaporating. He closes his eyes and pictures himself, twenty-five and in medical school, legs spread just as they are now, latex gloves slick and warm, fingering himself between power naps and study sessions. 

(‘I need my alone time, Christine.’)

He reluctantly ceases to fantasize about himself when Tony says something - he doesn’t catch it - and watches as the other man undoes his belt, then his fly, pulling his half-hard cock free. Stephen falters in his rhythm, sizing his partner up, and he hates that he can feel himself blushing. Forty years old and still excited by the sight of a naked dick, stiff just for him. His pulse is picking up. 

“Do you want me?” He knows how it sounds, but he needs to be told. He needs to hear it. 

“I need you,” Tony replies, instantly, and it doesn’t sound forced, or glib. He has total control over his ego, and Stephen envies his confidence. It pisses him off, how much he likes watching this spoiled billionaire stroke himself in time with the cadence Stephen sets. For the first time since they met at that tedious soiree, the doctor is starstruck. He sighs, caressing himself from the inside one last time before pulling his fingers out and wiping them against the bedsheets. 

Tony stops masturbating, suddenly. He frowns. “Gross. Gross, gross, gross.” Stephen blanches, “What the fuck?” but Tony doesn’t elaborate. 

Instead, he approaches the bed, erection bobbing as he moves with purpose. “Keep your hands under your ass,” he commands, firmly, and Stephen is too surprised to argue, lifting himself to a sitting position and tucking his hands under his bottom. Tony steps onto the bed, fully upright, and positions himself so his cock is almost level with Stephen’s mouth. Stephen’s own dick twitches in anticipation, and he opens his mouth, expectant, but Tony mumbles, “Shut it,” so he does. The businessman’s hand is soon on the back of his neck, urging him forward. It feels precarious because Stephen can’t balance himself on his arms, but the struggle is immensely erotic, giving control over to someone competent enough to handle it. 

With one hand, Tony’s steadies Stephen’s head, holding him in place, and with the other he directs his cock to the doctor’s mouth, wiping the slick head against his wide, Cupid’s-bow lips. Stephen’s tongue darts out to meet him, and he licks at Tony as adeptly as he can without moving. Tony allows this for a minute before pushing forward, insistently, until Stephen relaxes his jaw. 

He hasn’t had his mouth fucked in a long time, maybe years, because he prefers to dazzle with his ability to suppress his gag reflex. But making himself passive like this - it’s good, it’s satisfying in another way. 

Tony hisses, and tightens his grip, but that’s about the extent of his outward reaction. Stephen tries to match him in composure, breathing through his nose and swallowing around Tony’s cock. He feels sweat trickle down his back and pool in the slight dip above his ass. The effort of staying still, of being quiet, of keeping his balance, is making him strain. Tony senses this, after a time, and pulls away, wordlessly. Stephen slumps in relief and wipes his mouth on his shoulder, hands still seated firmly under himself. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can articulate it, Tony is getting to his knees and speaking in a way that isn’t quite commanding, but definitely isn’t requesting either.

“Can I fuck you from behind?” Stephen’s heart rate spikes.  
“Sure. I don’t see why not.” His voice is quiet, and he sounds desperate to his own ears. He wants Tony to touch him, to give him a few tugs, anything, because he can’t do it himself. Because he knows how to follow instructions, and he won’t move his hands until he’s told he can.

“Good. On your knees, ass up.” Tony pauses for a beat. “And you really should do something about little Stephen there. I hate to see neglect.”

A mind-reader, on top of everything else, then.

Stephen blushes, because he hates being spoken to that way, being mocked, but it’ll make a helluva story, that’s for sure. Tony Stark, a chauvinist in bed. A headline that would surprise exactly no-one. 

He gets to all fours, then down to rest on his forearms, right shoulder against a pillow for leverage so he can touch himself. Which he does, enthusiastically, canting his hips up as he works a fist over his dick. He can feel Tony watching him. He imagines he must look like a slut, and he wishes he could see what the billionaire is seeing. What a lucky man, that Tony Stark. Being allowed to fuck the great Doctor Strange.

Stephen huffs, half-laughing, half-sighing at his own internal dialogue. “C’mon, Stark. I didn’t come here to jerk off in your bed. Selfish — selfish lover.”

“You wound me,” Tony mumbles, hand finally, finally on Stephen’s hip, lining himself up with the accommodating, open hole. 

Then, he’s pushing in and Stephen’s words all run together - “I’m sure you’ve heard that before,” - as he’s filled. Tony is gentle, taking things slowly, asking Stephen if it hurts, or if he likes it, fishing for compliments even as he’s being attentive. 

Eventually, Tony’s hands come to rest against Stephen’s shoulders, and the doctor is forced flat onto the bed, right hand trapped and still beneath him. He whines in protest, but Tony fucks into him more deeply, and steadily increases the pace of his thrusts until Stephen’s bones feel malleable, and the effort it would take to protest seems insurmountable. Tony fucks like a well-oiled machine, controlled and relentless. The edges of Stephen’s vision blur, and he closes his eyes, focusing on the deeply satisfying ache of having his ass stretched out of shape. 

Then, too abruptly, the feeling is gone, and he’s empty. With some effort, Stephen lifts himself to his elbows again so he can turn to look at Tony. He witnesses him stripping the condom off and stroking his cock once, twice, three times, before gripping at the base. He’s pink and sweaty and looking very, very good for a man his age. Stephen’s hand is back on his own cock, and he’s coming soon thereafter, chasing his orgasm like a dog who is afraid his food will be taken if he doesn’t get after it quickly enough. Tony curses as he watches Stephen come, encouraging him.

(‘Jesus. Christ, look at you.’)

Stephen isn’t given the courtesy of a rest period, though, because Tony is insistent, jerking himself off with an urgency that signals a very patient man losing his restraint. “Where do you want it?”

Stephen scowls. “What? What?”

“Where. Do you want me. To come?” Tony’s words are measured, but Stephen can tell he’s close, almost there, and he doesn’t want to come in his own hands like a teenager. Stephen can feel power dynamic tipping back in his favor. He smiles, as sweetly as he can.

“Well, I would have preferred you to have done it in the rubber, but I guess since we’re here I’ll let you choose."

Tony whimpers. “On your face.” It’s almost endearing. 

“How adolescent.” Stephen closes his eyes. “Get over here. Be quick, and don’t get any in my eyes. I have to be on TV tomorrow.” 

He feels Tony draw near, and then his hand is over Stephen’s eyes, and several moments later his cheeks are wet, then his lips. When Tony pulls away, he wipes a thumb against Stephen’s mouth, and the doctor is expecting him to push the come in. But he doesn’t - indeed, Tony peels his shirt off and gently wipes Stephen’s face clean. Then, he collapses next to the doctor on the bed, body still until his breathing evens out. 

Stephen is the first to speak up. “You okay, old man?” 

Tony affirms, “Uh, yeah. And you, older man?”

Stephen musters enough energy for an eye roll. “It takes more than a gentle lay to tire me out,” he lies, feeling totally exhausted. “Mind if I stay the night?” 

Tony rotates to face Stephen, and presses a kiss to his temple. “Not at all. Happy takes the trash out in the morning, though, so make sure you’re decent.”

For the first time since they met at that gala a month ago, Stephen’s laughter is genuine.

**Author's Note:**

> i can’t believe marvel #confirmed ironstrange with that wink. they’re valid. i’m valid. we are all valid.


End file.
